Never Forget
by booklover4816
Summary: Over thirteen years ago a horrible act of terror took place in the United States. This is a story of the countries of the world reacting to the tragedy and America remembering the victims of the attack. More information at the end of the first chapter.
1. Chapter 1

_April 5, 2015. Lower Manhattan, New York City, New York._

It was a rare moment when America was actually quiet, but this was a special case. If one didn't know what the museum was for, they would never guess that there was a couple hundred people in it because no one dared to raise their voice above a whisper, not even the children. The museum, no memorial, had that aura that gave one a somber feeling. America wished the rest of the countries could see the 9/11 Memorial Museum. It would show them how resilient his people were. They took an area where a tragedy took place and turned it into something beautiful.

He glanced up at the blue-tiled wall. Tears stung his eyes for he knew behind that wall was the unidentified victims of the attack. Their families would not have closure and they would never go home again. He read the quote by Virgil, "No Day Shall Erase You From The Memory Of Time." It was so fitting because as long as he was around, they'd never be forgotten. He still remembered men who fought alongside him in his Revolution and the innocent people that were murdered in the attack were no different. He would remember all 2,977 victims forever.

He felt a soft, gentle hand on his shoulder. He wiped the tears from his eyes and turned around. He found himself staring into the indigo eyes of his twin brother Canada. The Canadian smiled softly. "It's okay Alfred. You can cry, eh. I understand."

Tears started running down America's face. He tried to wipe them away but more took their place. Canada lead America over to the area around the last support and carefully pushed him down onto a bench. He handed the American a Kleenex. America gladly accepted it and used it to try and dry his tears.

"S-sorry Mattie." he apologized. "It's just it-it still hurts."

"I know, Al. I know." Canada assured him. "I don't blame you actually. I feel like crying myself." He glanced around. "This place is beautiful, eh. They did a wonderful job."

America looked in the direction his brother was looking. "Y-yeah, they did." He turned to Canada. "Why do you feel like crying?"

The Canadian shrugged. "This place just has that mood. You look at all this wreckage and the pictures from that day and the faces of the victims and it just gives you that feeling of wanting to cry. I think it triggers some kind of empathy in a person. Besides," he looked into America's tear-filled sky blue eyes, "I remember that day Al. I remember being horrified when hearing the first plane struck the North Tower. I was so worried when your boss called me to ask if I could ask my boss to allow flights to land at my place instead of you calling me yourself because I knew you had your phone on you; I had just talked to you thirty minutes before the first plane crashed. And I was absolutely terrified when I asked where you were and he told me the last place he knew you were was the South Tower. The first thing I thought of was 'Is he okay?' I was so scared I was going to lose you. I immediately replayed our phone conversation and started crying, terrified that could've possibly been the last conversation we had."

America was shaking now. He remembered that day perfectly. For the past thirteen years it often haunted his nightmares. At the random times he could smell the smoke that filled the air; feel the heat of the fires lick his skin; hear the sobs of the dying victims echo in his head. There were times when he was overcome with the fear that radiated off the victims. Canada was the only other one that knew those times sent him into a panic attack.

America closed his eyes. Immediately scenes from that day started playing in his mind.

* * *

_September 11, 2001. 8:30 a.m._

"Dude, how can you hate it? Do even know why that song was written?" America asked his brother as he entered the South Tower. He had a very important meeting at 9:00 but his boss said to be there at least half an hour before. The nation knew better than to disobey his boss.

"Yes Al, I know that it was written for the 1964 World's Fair in New York because Disney wanted a song that promoted peace and could be translated into many different languages easily." Canada replied. "I don't necessarily hate it, I just find it annoying."

"Annoying, hm?"

"America no." Canada hissed before America chuckled. "Alfred F. Jones don't you dare!"

"It's a world of laughter, a world of tears. It's a world of hopes and a world of fears. There's so much that we share that it's time we're aware it's a small world after all. It's a small world after all! It's a small world after all! It's a small world after all! It's a small, small world. There is just one moon and one golden sun and a smile means friendship to everyone. Though the mountains divide and the oceans are wide it's a small world after all! It's a small world after all! It's a small world after all! It's a small world after all! It's a small, small world!" America sang as he entered the elevator, earning some strange looks. He laughed as he pressed the button for the 90th floor. "Enjoy that Mattie?"

Canada sighed. "I hate you sometimes."

"Love you too, Bro." America glanced at his watch. "I gotta go. I'll call you later."

"Okay. See you later, Al."

"Bye Mattie."

He hung up his phone and slid it into his pocket. He felt a headache coming. He knew it was from the cultural diversity of New York City. There was a couple million very diverse people with in a couple miles. The people of Manhattan alone during the day was over three million which was more than the populations of Hawaii, Wyoming, and Alaska combined by about one million. And Queens was rumored to have over 200 languages.

He sighed as the elevator doors opened. He glanced at his watch. 8:46. Only more fourteen minutes before the meeting began. He glanced out the window and noticed a plane flying alarmingly fast and uncomfortably close to the city. He frowned. The plane shouldn't be that close. Pilots were trained that if they were going to crash to find an area that wasn't very populated. The plane should be heading for the harbor but instead it was aimed right at the facade of the North Tower.

Before he could think much more about it, the plane crashed right into the North Tower. Thick, black smoke erupted from the point of impact. His heart lurched in fear as he felt a stabbing pain in his right arm. A glanced at it and saw dark red blood soaking through the fabric. This was no ordinary plane crash otherwise he would not be bleeding as bad as he was. Something was seriously wrong. But by the time he realized this, a crowd of people had gathered around, curious as to what had happened. He began to push through the crowd of people.

He struggled through the crowd, wasting precious time he could be using to help. He wanted to yell at them to leave; something was very wrong. He glanced at his watch after getting away from the window. It was 8:50. That was four minutes that he could've been using to help. On the bright side, it seemed as if some people had the right idea and were heading towards the stairs and elevators. America stopped and rolled up his sleeve. He ripped a strip of his shirt and wrapped it above the fresh wound tight enough to stop the bleeding by not cut of circulation. He began to head toward the stairs, knowing better than to take the elevator. He had a sense of foreboding in the pit of his stomach. Something told him taking the elevator would be a very bad idea.

He came to the stairs and went down them, taking two at a time. He was somewhat slowed due to minor blood loss from his still bleeding wound. In fact, it was bleeding heavier, another sign something was off. He glanced at his watch as he came to the 87th floor. It was 9:02, almost 9:03. His boss was going to mad he skipped the meeting, but he really didn't care. Suddenly, there was a loud crash and the building shook violently. Several people around him let out screams and cries of panic. There was another stabbing sensation on his right arm as a fresh wound appeared next to the first. He quickly exited the staircase and went to the nearest window, which happened to be on the south side of the tower. All he saw was thick, black smoke rising from the side of the building as the same smoke began to fill the hallway.

The scent of gasoline lingered in the air. Panic filled America as he realized what happened. A plane had crashed into the South Tower right after one had crashed into the North Tower. It wasn't a coincidence. It was an attack. People around him were beginning to visibly panic. Fear was radiating off the walls. They dialed 911 and asked the operators what they were supposed to do. America knew that evacuating the building was going to be difficult, possibly even impossible.

Fires crackled on the floors below and the nation knew they were going to eventually reached the floor he was on. Most likely fires blocked the stairs that lead to the lower floors, if the stairs even survived the crash. The elevators were most likely not operating and going up higher wasn't a good idea either. He and all the other people were essentially trapped above the crash.

America was scared. He immediately thought he was going to die, forgetting the fact he was a nation and couldn't die. He thought about Canada and how he might not be calling him later like he promised. He thought about England and how he never told his former caretaker how much he cares about him and never apologized for hurting the Englishman as bad as he did. He thought about Russia and how they never fully repaired their friendship. He thought about all his friends and how he might never see them again. But most of all, he thought of his citizens trapped in both towers and the ones in the planes. He knew there was no hope for the passengers and crew of the planes, but he was thankful they didn't suffer. As for the people in the towers, some were already dead and there wasn't much hope for the rest. They'd either burn to death or die from smoke inhalation.

He became aware of his surroundings again. The fires had reached the floor by then and he could hear the people around him sobbing and praying and calling for help. Some people were laying still on the ground. America's body started shaking with sobs because he knew they were dead. Guilt began to consume him. He was their nation and he let them die in such a violent way. Slowly the room began to grow quieter as more people passed away, their lives unfairly ripped away from them.

He sat down in the middle of the floor because it was becoming harder and harder to stand. He was a nation but he still had his limits. The air was hot so he took off his suit jacket. He glanced at his watch and saw it was 9:36.

"He's really going to be mad at me for missing that meeting." America whispered to himself, his voice hoarse from smoke inhalation. He was starting to grow more and more light headed but he knew he couldn't close his eyes. That wouldn't be smart. He'd only end up getting hurt more if he closed his eyes.

Suddenly there was a sharp pain in his heart. That meant something happened to his capital. A new wave of panic washed over him. What he was suffering through at that moment wouldn't kill him but if enough damage was done to his capital, his heart, then he might. His Puritin roots kicked in and he began to pray despite not having an offical religion. "Please God, they don't deserve this. Please make it stop. They're innocent. Please."

America kept repeating his prayer over and over again as he sobbed. He was full of sorrow, guilt, confusion, anger, panic, and desperation. He didn't understand who was attacking his people or why. What did these innocent civilians ever do to deserve this kind of death? He also felt helpless. There was absolutely nothing he could do to help. He was supposed to be the hero. But what kind of hero couldn't protect or help innocent people?

Before he could think more about it, the ground started to shake. The people that were still alive began to panic again. They feared another plane was slamming into the building but America quickly realized that wasn't the case. Debris began falling from the ceiling. The tower wasn't going to be standing much longer. Suddenly there was a groaning noise and then a crash. The next thing America knew he was falling to the ground. There were cries and screams of panic from the living that still had the energy to do so.

The nation fell faster and faster. He gulped, knowing how badly hitting the concrete was going to hurt. He was more concerned about the other people. It wasn't going to be a nice death. It was going to hurt them a lot and it wasn't going to be pretty. He closed his eyes and braced himself. He felt his body hit the pavement and debris from the building land on him before the world went black.

* * *

_September 11, 2001. 10:00 a.m._

Canada watched in horror as the building that was his brother's last known location crumbled to the ground, shocking everyone in the immediate area and those watching around the world. That building wasn't suppose to fall. Then again, the Titanic wasn't supposed to sink either and look what happened to that. It seemed to be a reoccurring patten when humans said something couldn't be destroyed. But that didn't matter to the nation at the moment. What mattered was that his brother's country was under attack and America was possibly in the South Tower when it collapsed. Canada pulled out his phone and dialed America's number again.

"Maple America. Pick up dammit so I know you're alive." he pleaded as he hit send.

"I'm sorry but the number you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please dial a different number or call again later." the female monotone voice of the answering machine said.

"Dammit!" Canada swore before bursting into tears. He dialed a new number. It rang twice before the person on the other line answered.

"Bonjour ma petite Canada~" France greeted. "Do you need Papa France to give advice in l'amour?"

"N-non Papa." Canada sniffled. "Are you watching the news?"

"Non. Pourquoi?"

"Just turn on the-" Canada started before seeing breaking news that another plane just went down in Pennsylvania. "Mon Dieu! Pas un autre!"

"Canada, mon petit frére, what's wrong?" France asked sounding very concerned.

"J-just turn on the goddamned news!" the Canadian wailed. "Plaire à Dieu! Let mon frére be alright."

"Mon Dieu." France breathed in horror. "Where is Amérique? Is 'e alright? Did you call Angleterre?"

"Non! I did not call England! I've been trying to call America since the first plane struck and he's not answering, eh. Knowing him he turned off his fucking phone after he hung up."

"You talked to 'im?"

"Oui." Canada said softly. "His boss called shortly after the second plane hit and asked me to ask my boss to allow planes to land in my country. A-and I asked where America was because normally he'd call me himself. And you know what America's boss told me? He said America was on the 90th floor of the South Tower for a meeting."

"Mon Dieu." France said. "I will call Angleterre and we will be there as soon as possible. You get to New York as fast as you can. Also, someone needs to tell the others."

"Oui Papa. I will call on my way there, eh."

"Le bien. Aur Revour, Canada." France said hastily. "And mon cher petit frére."

"Oui?"

"I am sure Amérique is fine. Just have faith. He is a survivor."

"Oui Papa. Aur Revoir."

Canada hung up his phone and raced to his car. It occurred to him he didn't have his passport or any money or even his license but he had diplomatic power. He'd pull every string he could to get to New York. He'd call anyone's boss he had to, even Russia's if it would get him to Manhattan. Screw politics and screw the law, his brother was more important. And nothing in the entire world would stop him from getting to New York.

* * *

**Okay, so this was originally going to be a one shot, but I'm making it at least a two shot because there's just so much to write about. I just got back from New York and we went to the 9/11 Memorial Museum and it was so beautiful and eerie. I was only a two year old almost three when 9/11 happened so I don't remember it but my mom said I was playing in the living room while she was watching the news when the first plane struck. But when I was in the museum, I felt like crying and even feel like crying while thinking about it. Nobody in the museum spoke above a whisper. The museum just demanded silence. It is ****a really beautiful memorial for such a huge tragedy. So I was thinking about it on the bus ride home and I thought about the countries of the world reacting to it and what would happen if America himself visited the museum. Please note that 9/11 was a horrifying act of terror and I am not trying to offend anyone by writing this fanfiction. I do not own the Hetalia characters or the song "It's A Small World (After All)." This fanfiction is pure fiction and reference to any of the real victims is unintentional. Given the nature of the topic of this fanfiction, please do not leave rude comments or silly comments. Please excuse my French if it's wrong. I know very little French and had to use Google Translate. Thank you. May the victims of 9/11 rest in peace. Never forget. **


	2. Chapter 2

_September 12, 2001. 12:27 a.m., Japanese Standard Time._

Japan was awoken by his phone ringing. He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes before glancing at the caller I.D. The number looked eerily similar to America's but Japan wasn't too sure it was his. He sighed before picking up the phone. "America-san, it is midnight at my prace."

"I'm Canada, eh." the voice on the other end said softly in a shakey voice. "I'm America's brother."

"Gomen'nasai Canada-san." the Japanese man apologized. "You sound as if you are crying. What's wrong?"

"Aren't you watching the news?" Canada asked. "Something terrible has-" He cut off and Japan could hear the sound of what sounded like a car radio on the other end of the line. "Mon Dieu! The North Tower-" Canada said something Japan couldn't make out. "Mon Dieu! Mon pauvre frére!"

"Canada-san?" Japan asked before getting up to turn on the TV. He flipped to a news channel. "Is everything-"

He didn't need to even need to finish asking. On the screen was the horrifying sight of a building in New York City collapsing in on itself. A huge smoke cloud was rising from the building that just collapsed and an area nearby where a similar building stood only a few hours before. The scene switched to America's Pentagon, one of the sides collapsed. From what Japan was hearing, the American government was declaring it an act of terrorism. Four planes had been hijacked. Two had crashed into the Twin Towers in New York, one had crashed into the Pentagon, and one had crashed into a field in southwestern Pennsylvania, it's destination unknown but believed to be Washington D.C. The South Tower had collapsed shortly after ten and the North Tower just collapsed. The number of dead, missing, and injured was unknown but it was believed to be as high as 100,000.

"Where is America-san?" Japan asked Canada.

"Je ne sais pas! His phone didn't even go to voicemail!" Canada sobbed. "His boss said his last known location was the 90th floor of the South Tower." Japan paled. That meant America was most likely in the tower when it collapsed. Canada spoke again. "I'm heading to New York. Can you do me a favor and call Germany?"

"Hai Canada-san."

Before anything else was said, the Canadian hung up. Japan watched the news in horror before dialing Germany. It rang three times before someone picked up, only it wasn't Germany. "Ve~ ciao Japan! Isn't it really late at your place?"

"Hai Itary-kun. Is Germany-san there?"

"Ve~ sì. And you don't have to be so formal. Siamo amici." Italy replied. "What's wrong? Your voice sounds shakey."

"Nothing Itary. Prease put Germany-san on the phone." Japan begged.

He heard Italy hand the phone to Germany and said German scold the Italian for answering his phone. "Hallo? Japan? Vhat's vrong?"

"Doitsu-san, are you watching the news?"

"Nein but I can turn it on." the German replied. There was a couple minutes of silence before Germany spoke again. "Mein Gott. Please tell me zis is another one of America's jokes."

"I am afraid not." Japan told his former ally. "According to Canada-san, America's rast known rocation was the South Tower."

Before Germany could reply Japan heard Italy cry out in shock. "Mio Dio! Ve~ Germany what's going on? Is America okay?"

"Not now Italien!" Germany scolded. "Go make pasta or somezing und let me handle zis."

"Now's not the time for pasta Germany!" Italy yelled angrily, an extremely rare thing. The Italian was normally laid back but he tended to get angry if someone he considers a friend gets hurt. "Non sono stupado! Non sono un'idiota! One of my friends is potentially in danger. I deserve to know too."

Germany sighed. "I have to go Japan. I vill meet you in New York, ja?"

"Hai Doitsu-san." Japan replied before Germany hung up.

He sighed. It was going to be a long night and he was going to have to find a way to New York that didn't involve flying because knowing America's government, they were probably already closing off the airspace. He got up and started packing a suitcase. Who knew long he'd be staying? Halfway through packing, it occurred to him that he should probably call China. The Chinese man would be extremely upset if he knew Japan knew and didn't tell him. Japan sighed before picking up the phone again.

* * *

_September 11, 2001. 3:30 p.m. Western European Time_

England scowled angrily as he looked at his caller I.D. It was France. What could he possibly want? He probably wanted to make sexual remarks or tease the British man or mock his cooking or something like that. England couldn't have a peaceful afternoon without France disturbing him. He was half tempted to ignore the call but decided against it. Knowing his rival, France would either keep calling until England picked up or break into his house.

"What do you want Frog?" he demanded into the phone. His ears were assulted by rapid French, which sounded like absolute gibberish to the Englishman. "Slow down and speak in English. I can't bloody understand you, wanker."

"Angleterre, something 'orrible 'as 'appened. Amérique is missing. 'Is country 'as been attacked."

"What? What the bloody hell are you going on about?" England demanded, worry growing in the pit of his stomach.

"Some terrorists hijacked four planes. Two crashed into the World Trade Center, one in 'is Pentagon, and another in a field in someplace called Pennsylvania. The Twin Towers 'ave collapsed. According to ma petit Canada, Amérique's last known location was the South Tower and 'e may 'ave been in it when it collapsed." France explained hastily.

England sank into his armchair, his hands shaking. This was some kind of sick joke France was playing on him. America wasn't missing. He was in his country goofing off and there was no plane hijacking. Right? This was just a sick, twisted joke that was being played on him.

"Y-you're lying Frog." England accused. "T-this is some kind of bloody joke and guess what, it's not funny."

"Angleterre-"

"Don't you dare call me that!" he growled. "My name is either England or Britain, not 'Angleterre.' Now put that git America on the bloody phone."

"Britain," France said calmly, using one of England's perfered names to alert him this was serious, "'e is not with me. Canada could not reach 'im and when I called, 'is phone didn't even go to voicemail. I told Canada we would meet 'im in New York. I will be there in an 'our to get you."

France hung up leaving England in silence. The Brit sat there for a moment with the phone to his ear, trying to process what France just said. America was missing and unreachable? No, that wasn't possible. England dialed America's cell phone number, determined to give his former colony a piece of his mind and tell him exactly what he thought about the little joke France and America were playing on him. They were probably in Paris or something laughing about how they thought England was gullible. He hit send.

Almost immediately the monotone machine came on on saying, "I'm sorry but the number you have reached is out of service. Please dial a different number and try again."

The line went dead as soon as the machine finished. England put his face in the palms of his hands. "No. It's not bloody possible. Those wankers are just playing a joke on me. No doubt Australia's involved." He dialed Australia's number, ignoring the fact it was after 1:30 a.m. at his place.

The Australian picked up on the fourth ring. "I was wondering when ya'd call. New Zealand called me after South Africa told 'im. And she was told Brazil and he was told by Mexico, who was apparently told by America's boss. I've been trying to call America but he's not answering his bloody phone."

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?" England demanded.

"Ya didn't hear, mate?" Australia asked sounding confused. "I thought Spain or France woulda told ya because Mexico and Canada called them. Iggy, America's been attacked. Nobody can reach 'im. Canada, Mexico, New Zealand, South Africa, most of South and Central America, France, Spain, Ireland, Portugal, India, and I have all tried."

"Let me guess, it didn't even go to voicemail." England stated, a realization of horror coming over him. America wouldn't ignore that many countries trying to get ahold of him.

"Yeah. Let me guess, ya tried to call him."

"Yes. I did." the former empire replied, his voice shaking. "Are you and New Zealand going to New York?"

"Yeah." Australia replied. "France told you, didn't he? You thought it was a joke."

"Yes I did." England replied miserably. "And Jett."

"Yeah mate?"

"I'll see you in New York."

"Yeah Britain, I'll tell Fletch we'll see you in New York." Australia confirmed. "Call Italy and have him ask his friend, the Vatican City, to pray for those poor people."

"I will." England assured him. "Goodbye lad."

The Englishman quickly hung up. He sent Italy a text, telling him Australia's request. The Italian quickly replied that he and his friend, Slovenia, were stopping there before they went to New York and that he would gladly tell the Vatican City of Australia's request. England was curious as to why Germany wasn't going to the Vatican instead of Slovenia but he didn't pry. Italy and Slovenia's main religion was Catholicism and the two had been friends since they were children. And Italy probably had his reasons for excluding Germany, despite the fact that one of the German's main religions was Catholicism.

England quickly got up and started throwing clothes in a suitcase. He didn't care about packing neatly, he just had to get to America as soon as possible. He quickly wrote a note to his brothers in case they stopped by, telling them where he was going and that he didn't know when he'd be back. When he was done, he began mindlessly cleaning. Anything to ignore the situation. He had a long flight to worry, but right now he needed to numb himself to keep from breaking down.

* * *

_September 11, 2001. 4:45 p.m. Central European Time._

Italy and Slovenia approached the Vatican together. The Italian was unbelievably mad at Germany. He couldn't believe Germany didn't want him to know what was going on in America's country. America was his friend. If he was hurt, Italy deserved to know. Which is why he excluded Germany from going to the Vatican with him and Slovenia. Normally Italy would invite Germany to go along with him and his childhood friend, but not this time.

"Italija, forgive me for asking, but where is Nemčija?" Slovenia asked. "He normally comes with us."

"I'm mad at him, Slovenia." Italy told him. "You are aware of what is going on in gli Stati Uniti d'America, sì?"

"Da. I am well aware, moj prijatelj." Slovenia replied. "America and I are not particularly close but we are on good terms, so I am horrified and worried. I was texting Bosnia earlier and he says Turkey is already questioning the Middle East. According to Turkey, the Middle East has been a disaster waiting to happen since Europeans and America started messing around there."

"I'm worried too. I knew Germany wasn't going to tell me anything, so I called America's sorella. According to Messico, nobody can reach America."

"Moj Bog." the Slovenian said in horror as they reached the Vatican. "You don't think he was..."

"Unfortunately, sì." Italy replied miserably. "Messico said that America's boss said his last known location was the South Tower."

"Moj Bog! He could be seriously hurt and he's missing. We need to get there as soon as possible. They will need all the help they can get."

"Who needs help?" a voice asked. The two turned and came face to face with a kindly old man the both knew to be Vatican City.

"America, Padre." Italy replied. "Haven't you heard? T-terrorists hijacked planes and flew them into buildings. They don't know how many people lost their lives but they think it is as high as 100,000."

The Italian burst into tears. Slovenia comforted his friend the best he could. It was everything he could do not to break down too. What was happening was horrifying. The Vatican looked just as horrified as the two larger countries felt. He put a hand on Italy's shoulder. "Non piangere, Bambino."

"Però Padre," Italy sniffled, "America è mio amico. He's missing and not answering his phone. They think he was in one of the buildings that was hit."

"Child, I know you care for your friends, but tears will not help." the older man told him. "It is in God's hands. All we can do is pray."

"That reminds me, Padre. Inghilterra wanted me to tell that Australia wants you to pray for America and his people." Italy told him.

"I will." the Vatican assured him. "You two better pray as well. Am I to assume you both are going to America?"

"Ja." Slovenia replied. "Italija, we better get going."

"Sì. Arrivederci, Padre!"

"Goodbye Italy. Goodbye Slovenia." the Vatican called after them as they started to leave. "And Italy." The Italian turned to face him. "Forgive Germany for whatever he did to anger you. Remember, God forgave you, so you should do the same to those who wrong you. I will send your brother along when I see him."

The two countries left the Vatican. Slovenia turned to Italy. "So we are going to America then?" Italy nodded in affirmation. "I shall text Croatia and ask him to swing by my house and grab clothes before he leaves for New York. I know he, Bosnia, and Albania will be coming with Greece and Turkey."

* * *

_September 11, 2001. 6:00 p.m. Eastern Europe Time._

Estonia ran to Russia's study and pounded on the door. "Mr. Russia! Mr. Russia, it's an emergency!"

The Russian opened the door holding his pipe and a bottle of vodka. He was wearing his usual smile that made Estonia and the other Baltics tremble in fear. But Estonia had to tell Russia what was going on. Lithuania was devestated and Latvia would end up getting them all in trouble.

"Ah Estonia, come in. I hope the emergency is that the world finally wants to become one or the world is on fire otherwise I will have to use my magic cane. I am very busy man, da."

Well, one of his guesses was pretty close. Only it wasn't the world on fire. It was several areas in America. Estonia knew he had to be careful how he worded what he had to say. America and Russia were on better terms than they were during the Cold War but their relationship was still kind of rocky, and strange. Definitely strange. Strange to the point it scared Germany and England when they saw the two hanging out.

Estonia took a deep breath before speaking. "Americahasbeenattacked! Pleasedon'tkillme!"

Russia cocked his head in confusion. "What was that, Comrade? I did not understand a word you said. Slow down and use spaces, da."

"America's country has been attacked!" he cried.

"Amerika has been attacked?" Russia asked slowly.

"Jah, a few hours ago. Some terrorists hijacked planes. Two were flown into the North and South Towers of the World Trade Center in New York. Both buildings have collapsed. Another was flown into America's Pentagon. And the last was crashed in someplace called Pennsylvania, it's destination unknown." Estonia explained nervously. He start muttering, "Please don't kill me, please don't kill me..." rapidly under his breath while shaking.

Russia looked mildly concerned. "Tell me, does this mean all members of NATO are at war now?" He glanced at Estonia. "Are you cold Comrade? You are shaking."

"No! Of course not! I'll be leaving now."

Estonia bolted out of the room like it was on fire, leaving Russia alone. He picked up the phone and dialed America's cell number. He really wanted to know if this was considered an act of war, which it probably was. But Russia was still getting used to his new "democracy" and NATO, so he figured he should ask his favorite American just in case. The last thing he needed was sanctions from the U.N. because he didn't follow the rules. He hit send but it didn't even ring. "I'm sorry but the number you have reached is out of service. Please dial a different number and try again."

Russia frowned. Surely America didn't cancel his phone. He was a superpower and needed to be able to be reached at all times. As far as Russia knew, America only turned his phone off for meetings. But that message clearly said his phone is out of service, which means it was canceled. Unless the American was pranking him, in which case superpower or not, America would be answering to Russia's pipe.

Russia got up. It looked like he was taking a trip to New York to sort this out. It was either a prank, a misunderstanding, or something happened to America.

* * *

**This is going to be a multi-chapter story. Thank you for all the positive reviews. And yes, I can give the translations.**

**Gomen'nasai= Japanese for "I'm sorry"**

**Mon pauvre frére= French for "My poor brother"**

**Je ne ****sais pas!= French for "I don't know!"**

**Siamo amici= Italian for "We're friends."**

**Non sono stupado. Non sono un'idiota= Italian for "I'm not stupid. I'm not an idiot."**

**gli Stati Uniti d'America= Italian for "The United States of America"**

**moj prijatelj= Slovenian for "my friend"**

**Moj Bog= Slovenian for "My God"**

**Non piangere, Bambino= Italian for "Don't cry, Child."**

**America è mio amico= Italian for "America is my friend."**

**Arrivederci= Italian for "Goodbye" more formal than "Ciao"**

**Forgive my, most likely, butchering of other languages. The only other language I know is what I call, survival Spanish and just started learning Italian so I only know the basics and how to conjugate essere plus a few insults. Anyway, thank you all for your support. If any historical facts are wrong, then I apologize ahead of time. My only resource is Wikipedia. I don't own Hetalia. Any reference to any real person is unintentional and this work is for fictional purposes. Slovenia is my OC.**


	3. Chapter 3

_September 11, 2001. 11:45 p.m. Chinese Standard Time._

China groaned as he sat up and glared at the ringing phone. He glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight. Who could possibly be calling at this hour. China figured it was probably America. It was nearly eleven in the morning at his place and he probably forgot about time zones. He snatched the phone from the receiver. The last thing he needed was Hong Kong complaining about his sleep being interupted. It was bad enough his younger brother was harping at him about becomming his own country. China really didn't want to deal with Hong Kong's sleep deprived grouchiness.

"America, it's almost midnight. This better be good." China said grouchily.

"I'm not America." Japan's voice replied shakily.

"Japan? What are you doing up this late, aru?"

"We need to get to America right away. It is an emergency." Japan told him urgently. "America's country has been attacked and according to Canada-san, he is missing."

China sat up straighter, alarmed. "What do you mean, aru?"

"Just turn on the news." the Japanese man ordered before hanging up.

China stared at the phone in confusion. He started wondering what happened to his little brother that Japan had become so bossy and emotionless. Then again, he never really did show much emotion even as a child. Though China could've sworn something in Japan's voice betrayed his emotion. He seemed upset about something. But what? Then it hit China. Japan said America had been attacked and according to Canada, whoever that is, the loud nation was missing. Japan and America were friends so China figured it was only natural for Japan to be concerned.

"China!" Hong Kong yelled urgently, his voice echoing through the hall. "Come quickly! You need to see this!"

China yawned, sat on the edge of his bed, and stretched. He wondered why Hong Kong was up this late and what had him so upset. China walked to Hong Kong's room, ready to see what his younger brother so desperately needed to show him and determined to scold him for being up so late. Hopefully it wasn't a fire caused by fireworks or a prank.

"Yes, Li Xiao?" China asked.

Hong Kong didn't say anything. He picked up his laptop (China made mental note to take that later) and brought it over to the nation. He quickly hid his messages between him and Iceland and shut off the radio playing American country music (he claimed it was for studying American culture but China knew Hong Kong just wanted to annoy him) before opening the Internet. He quickly brought up a news website and clicked on the breaking news. "Iceland told me. Read it."

China huffed in annoyance before skimming the article. He did a double take. Surely he was reading it wrong. He read it slower but it said the exact thing as the first time he read it. There was a terrorist attack taking place in America's country. Is that why Japan seemed so urgent? The Japanese man also mentioned America was missing. But surely this wasn't real. Nobody in their right mind would ever attack America.

"This is a joke, right?" China asked Hong Kong.

His younger brother shook his head. "No, I looked it up after Iceland told me and it's real. I even checked America's national news, Europe's news, and both Japan's and Australia's. This site is CNN, which is one of America's major news networks. In America's country, it's ethically wrong and illegal to lie in the news. They call it libel and America's constitution doesn't protect an individual from libel or slander."

"Wait, how do you know that, aru?" China demanded.

"I have to study other constitutions before I make mine." Hong Kong replied as if it was obvious. "Anyway, are you going to New York? A bunch of other nations are."

"I guess I don't have a choice. Knowing Russia, he'll call me once he finds out and drag me along anyway, aru. Do you want to come or stay here?"

"I'll come because of I don't go, you'll call one of the Koreas or Vietnam to babysit me."

"Then start packing, aru. And you are not taking that laptop." China informed him. "In fact," he held his hands out, "give it here."

Hong Kong scowled but obliged. China took it to his room and stashed it in his closet before pulling out his suitcase to start packing.

* * *

_September 11, 2001. 4:30 p.m., Central European Time_

Germany knew better than to go after Italy after he ran off. The Italian was angry and would only get more upset if Germany tried to calm him because the German wasn't the best at expressing his emotions or being a good friend. The best he could do is let Italy vent to Slovenia. Besides, he didn't want to risk running into Romano and listening to the Southern Italian yell at him for upsetting his "idiot little brother." Also he had to get to America, quickly.

He carefully folded his clothes and stuck them in his suitcase. He glanced at a pile of clothes that Italy had left lay in his room, despite Germany telling him not to. The German sighed and picked the clothes up. He folded them and put them in his suitcase. He knew Italy would be heading to New York as well and knowing the Italian, he'd forget to go home and get clothes. He and Slovenia would probably just leave from Rome. Which meant he probably should call Hungary and ask her to get Slovenia some clothes too.

He pulled out his cell phone and went to Hungary's number. She answered on the second ring. "Helló Germany."

"Hallo Hungary. I vas vondering if you'd swing by Slovenia's house und grab some clothes for him."

"Hm... I might not need to do that." she said. "I think I might still have some of his old clothes from vhen he lived vith Austria and I. Or are those Slovakia's? No, they're Slovenia's. The Czech Republic came and took Slovakia's after they vere married. Vhy do you need clothes for Slovenia?"

"Somezing has happened in America und I think Italy und Slovenia are going zere from Rome. So since I am going to America too, I figured I'd take zem clothes."

"Something happened in America?" she asked in a worried voice.

"Ja. According to Japan, some terrorists hijacked four planes und crashed them into some buildings." Germany replied. "According to America's bruder, America is missing."

"Istenem." Hungary breathed. "Don't vorry about Slovenia's clothes. I vill bring them vith me. Austria and I are coming."

She hung up. Germany put his cell phone on top of his passport before finishing packing. That was one less thing he needed to worry about. But one thing he refused to listen to was Austria's whining and complaining. Then again, Hungary was forcibly dragging him along and he knew better than to whine around his ex-wife. He's seen plenty of times what Hungary has done to Prussia.

Speaking of, where was Prussia? Germany knew he wasn't in the basement/his room. He obviously wasn't bothering Hungary or Austria, otherwise Germany would've heard about it. He most likely wasn't with France and Spain because the police haven't called. It was strange for Germany to not know where Prussia was.

* * *

_September 11, 2001. 5:00 p.m. Central European Time_

"Austria!" Hungary called as she entered her ex-husband's house with her suitcase. She heard "Ode to Joy" echoing through the house, indicating that he was in the music room. She walked towards said room and found Austria sitting at the piano, his long, delicate fingers moving over the keys. He had undoubtedly been there all day and most likely had no clue what was going on. She almost hated to pull away from his music, but this was important. "Rodreich!"

He slammed his hands on the keys in surprise. He spun around and stared at her. "Elizaveta! Vhat are you-" He noticed the suitcase. "Vhat's vith ze suitcase?"

"Ve need to get to New York now." she informed him. "Go pack. I vill explain on the vay there. Pack comfortable clothes, not vhat you usually vear. Jeans and tee shirts and sneakers."

He opened his mouth to protest but she glared at him, causing him to shut his mouth. He got up and went to go pack. She followed him to make sure he was packing appropriate attire. She saw he was just throwing random clothes into a suitcase. Hungary shook her head and started taking out what he had thrown into his suitcase. She wondered how on Earth Austria had survived the past nearly eighty-two years without her as she repacked his things.

* * *

_Meanwhile in Rome, Italy_

"Hvala Hrvaška." Slovenia said before hanging up his phone. He turned to Italy and for once found himself staring into his friend's eyes, honey gold meeting blue-green. The Italian's eyes were full of worry. "According to Croatia, Matti and Oče are going to New York. Matti is going to be taking clothes for me and Nemčija is taking yours."

"Gratzie Aleksander." Italy said. "Do you think'a America is alright?"

"Ja, it's America." Slovenia said softly. "Remember Feliciano? America is a fighter. Nobody attacks America and gets away with it. He'll be out for blood when we find him."

"Sì, I guess'a you're right." Italy glanced at his watch. "I need to call my boss and have him arrange a flight for us."

"Da, that will most likely be the only way we will get to New York. Knowing the American government, the airspace is closed." the Slavic nation agreed. "Hey Italija."

"Sì?" Italy asked as he sent a text to his boss.

"Have you seen or heard from Prusija? Hrvaška mentioned that Matti didn't mention him bothering her or Oče. I'm worried. What if he was on one of the planes while going to see America's brat? It's bad enough America is missing and potentially hurt, we don't need Prusija missing too. What if he dies and can't come back? What if he gets seriously hurt and can't heal like the rest of us? What if-"

"Slovenija, Aleksander," Italy cut him off, slipping into his friend's native tongue, "prosim nehaj!"

"Però, ho paura!" Slovenia sobbed, slipping into Italian. "What if hijacked planes are heading to London or Paris or Tokyo or Cape Town or even my Ljubljana? What if-"

"Abbastanza Slovenia!" Italy wailed. "Ho paura and you're making me even more scared! Just stop, per favore!"

The two stood there crying. Switzerland eventually came over to see what all the noise was about. He sighed and rubbed his temples when he saw it was Italy making a scene. But he was thankful the Italian and his Slovenian friend weren't trespassing. He started to walk away but nearly ran into Liechenstein when he turned around. She was looking up with her green doe eyes.

"Big Bruder, why are Herr Italy and Herr Slovenia crying?" she asked, her voice full of concern.

"I don't know and it's none of our business what those two are bawling about." Switzerland replied.

"But Bruder, shouldn't we go over and find out why and see if we can help?" she asked. "Herr Italy is our neighbor and isn't that what good neighbors do?"

"I-It's none of our business." Switzerland said defiantly, but his voice was faltering. He started to walk away but stopped. He turned his head and looked at his sister. Her eyes were big and pleading, causing Switzerland's resistance to crumble. He sighed. "Fine. But I'm only going over because they're disturbing the peace."

He walked over to Italy and Slovenia who were now crying harder. Switzerland had to be careful how he approached this because technically he was on Italy's territory and he was an uninvited guest. He couldn't just go up and yell at the two to be quiet. Liechenstein tugged on Switzerland's sleeve causing him to stop.

"If you want, I could go talk to them, Bruder."

She approached the two larger countries with Switzerland hot on her heels. He wasn't about to let her speak to Italy of all people by herself. Who knows what he could tell her that would corrupt her innocence? The Swiss man wasn't about to put his little sister's innocence at risk. Italy wasn't known for modesty about his body and Slovenia had a minor gambling problem on top of his crude jokes. And both liked their wine a little too much.

"Herr Italy? Herr Slovenia?" the girl asked, drawing their attention. "Why are you crying?"

"Ve~ Y-you haven't heard?" She shook her head causing the two bigger countries to cry harder. "Gli Stati Uniti d'America è sotto un attacco da parte di terroristi!"

Liechtenstein gasped and turned to Switzerland. "Big Bruder, we have to go help Herr America."

Switzerland wanted to say no. Not because he didn't want to help, but because he was a permanent neutral country. He wasn't supposed to get involved because knowing America, war was soon to follow. But Liechenstein was looking up with tear-filled eyes and Italy and Slovenia were nearby bawling their eyes out. Not that he cared about those two, but if he said no, then they'd only cry harder which would make him feel guilty. He sighed in defeat. Maybe Switzerland couldn't get involved but Vash Zwingli could. "Fine, we'll go help."

* * *

_ September 11, 2001 11:00 a.m. Eastern Standard Time_

Canada arrived in Brooklyn in what must be record time, then again he was a nation. Traffic into the city was stopped and he could smell the smoke from where he was at. Mexico was already there, but that's' because she was probably already at America's house when she got the call. Breaking into America's house was a hobby of hers. She probably took the keys to his car and just hit the gas. And surprisingly Prussia was there too. Mexico noticed his confused look at Prussia being there.

"He stopped at la casa de los Estados Unidos when I got the call. He was heading to see you." she explained. "He came with me."

"She drives almost as bad as Ita." Prussia grumbled.

"Hey!" she snapped. "I wasn't concerned with driving safely, Gringo. I was more concerned about mi hermano."

"Rosa, Gilbert, that's enough, eh." Canada said irritably. His brother was missing and potentially injured. He wasn't really in the mood to deal with Mexico and Prussia fighting. "Japan, France, and England are coming but that's all I know."

"Brazil, Panama, Argentina, Spain, and Andorra are coming, but she's only coming because Papa España is." Mexico told them. "If Papa España is coming, then ten American says Romano's coming too."

"You're on." Prussia said. "Most likely West will be coming und Ita vill follow."

"Let's see if they'll let us in the city." Canada said as he started walking towards Manhattan. "Remember where we've parked."

The three walked towards the Brooklyn Bridge. They had to push through a crowd of people heading towards Manhattan to help out. The three could see the smoke rising from the fires that had spread when the towers collapsed. Some people were covered in white dust from when the buildings collapsed. There was absolutely no traffic, an usual sight for New York. Firetrucks, ambulances, and police cars came to and from the site that had been dubbed "Ground Zero." Policemen and women stood in the street directing the people. Emergency workers were loading people into ambulances. Firefighters were giving people oxygen masks to help them breath. News reporters were everywhere, interviewing witnesses.

As they got closer, they could see rescue workers looking for survivors and the dead. Mexico pulled a piece of paper out of her jean pocket. She saw Canada and Prussia staring at her in confusion. "It's Alfie's picture. We need to show it to other people to find out if they've seen him." She pulled out some police badges. "These give us a legit reason to sift through the rubble."

"Ja, zat's a good idea." Prussia agreed.

* * *

_September 11, 2001. 4:30 p.m. Western European Time_

"Angleterre?" France called as he entered England's house. "Come on. We 'ave to go."

No answer. Normally the Brit would come out and yell at him for just walking into the house. Maybe his rival was in Cambridge or something instead of London? France didn't really remember if he called England's cell or home and he didn't ask where the Brit was. He just subconsciously assumed England was in London. France was still trying to process what happened in America. Who in their right mind would attack to United States of America, a superpower with one of the biggest militaries in the world?

He was about to call England's cell phone before he heard a crash come from the kitchen. He made his way to the Brit's kitchen. "Angleterre?"

He walked in and the first thing he saw was his rival attempting to clean a stove with questionable stains and burn marks all over in. The Englishman had knocked over a stack of pots and pans that looked like they had gone through nuclear war. Given England's cooking skills, the state of his stove, pots, and pans didn't really surprise France. No what surprised the Frenchman was the fact ENGLAND didn't even seem to notice he was making more of a mess. Bowls were shattered on the floor, knives were laying haphazardly on the counter, and there was spots of some brown stew on the window that came from the sponge the Brit was using.

"Angleterre." France said, grabbing England's wrist. "What 'ave you been doing?"

"Cleaning Frog. What the bloody hell does it look like?" England demanded. "Wait, when did you get here?"

"Just now. I told you I was coming, remember? We 'ave to get to America."

The younger country's face darkened. "B-bloody hell... I forgot... W-why him? God, who is that damn stupid and cruel?"

England was crying, a rare sight. If France had to guess, the Brit had put himself to mindless work to avoid processing the fact that America's country was attacked and America himself was missing. France hesitantly wrapped his arms around the England in a comforting manner. For once the Brit didn't push him away.

* * *

**This is kind of late, I know. I've had FFA stuff to do like banquet and officer stuff. Thank you to all my reviewers and followers. Your support means so much to me. I apologize for any historical and language inaccuracies. Any reference to actual victims is unintentional. I do not own Hetalia and the only two characters in this fanfiction I own are Slovenia and Mexico.**

**Istenem- Hungarian for "My God."**

**Hrvaška- Slovenian for "Croatia."**

**Brat- Slovenian for "Brother."**

**Prosim nehaj- Slovenian for "Please stop."**

**Però ho paura- Italian for "But I'm scared."**

**Abbastanza"- Italian for "Enough."**

**Gli Stati Uniti d'America è sotto in attacco da parte do terroristi- Italian for "The United States of America is under an attack by terrorists."**

**La casa de Los Estados Unidos- Spanish for "America's house."**


	4. Chapter 4

_Setember 11, 2001. 11:20 a.m. Eastern Standard Time_

Prussia felt sick. He'd seen a lot of horrors in his life but this was something new. Planes had only been around for a little over forty years when he was dissolved, which was a blink of an eye to a nation. To think a technology that he could remember being new and exciting could be used as a weapon of mass destruction was unfathmable to him. Then again, he'd seen it several times before.

He could also remember when those towers were built. New York City is America's pride and joy as his most populated city and he was excited when two towers, that were the same height, were built and replaced the Empire State Building as the tallest buildings in the city. Those towers were the iconic symbol of the financial success of America's country. And now, all that was left was rubble, white powder and fires.

On top of this, America's Pentagon, the symbol of his country's military power, had been attacked and rumors were circulating that a fourth plane was heading for his capital and there was the possibility of a fifth plane. The ex-nation shuddered at the thought. These people didn't deserve to suffer for the ideals of a bunch of cruel terrorists. As he walked with America's siblings, he prayed that this nightmare was over. That there was no more hijacked planes; that they found America so he and his people could pick themselves up.

It was bad enough that the world spent fifty years in fear of nuclear war, a horror that could still happen but was less likely now that Russia and America were "friends" again, but now they had to fear insane monsters attacking innocent people because of their beliefs. Hadn't anyone learned anything about attacking the United States? Japan sure did. If you attack America, you can guarantee that his country, government, citizens, and America himself will all be out for blood. Not that Prussia would blame him for wanting revenge for this. Who wouldn't? Why if Prussia was still a country, he would be speaking to his boss about becoming America's ally. Then again, he could still try that on his brother's boss but there was no doubt in Prussia's mind his younger brother was going to be on America's side in this.

"Excuse me," Mexico said holding up America's picture to a rescue worker, "we're looking for mi hermanito. Please, we think he was in the towers."

"I'm sorry, Madam, I haven't. But I'll keep an eye out for him." the man replied. "What's his name?"

"Alfred. Se llama Alfred. Alfred F. Jones." the Mexican replied, her voice cracking. Canada carefully wrapped an arm around her as she started crying. "¿Por qué? ¿Por qué tienes que ser estúpido y hacer que nos preocupemos de ti? Tú gringo maldito."

"I know Rosa, but screaming at him and calling him names isn't going to help us." Canada told her. The man gave the two siblings a look of pity.

"If I were you, I'd make a missing poster. I'm sure if you explain that your brother was in the Trade Center, a business will let you." he told them.

"Merci." Canada responded as the man ran off towards the wreckage.

"Vhy don't you go do zat und I vill stay in zis area to look." Prussia suggested.

"Sí, lo es un idea muy bueno, pero no tienes una foto de Alfred." Mexico pointed out.

"Ja, but ve can't really vait." Prussia pointed out. "Vait, awesome me has my phone. I could take a picture vith it?"

He pulled out his cell phone and snapped a picture of the photo Mexico had of America. Prussia's heart almost broke at the sight of the American. America was missing and wouldn't be happy if- when- they found him. He'll be devastated. Prussia could remember training him during his revolution. The American hated the idea of sending his people into battle, knowing he'd inevitably lose some. To Prussia's knowledge, the American still secretly hated it but said nothing to others because he knew it was a necessary evil. If he hated losing soldiers, Prussia didn't want to see how he'd react to losing this many civilians.

* * *

_12:00 p.m. Same Time Zone, P.O.V. Change_

America's felt an agonizing pain all over his body. The screams and cries of his citizens echoed in his head. He was full of terror and rage and sorrow. The suffocating scent of smoke filled his lungs, making him want to cough but he couldn't as he was sure his ribs were broken. He heard the screams of sirens and emergency workers.

He opened his eyes, not that he could see anything. Thick, black smoke was rising from the debris. On top of that his vision was blurry and hazy, indicating he had a concussion. He winced in pain as he tried to sit up. Pieces of the South Tower were laying on his legs, pressing down on the already broken bones. But it could be worse; his back or his neck could be broken.

He felt something warm, sticky, and wet running down the side of his face. He brought his hand up to his forehead and looked it, not that he could see it. He carefully put it to his tongue. A metallic taste filled his mouth, confirming his suspicions that it was blood. He felt the still bleeding wound and hissed in pain. But he sucked it up and pressed down on it with the palm of his hand.

He felt dizzy but knew better than to close his eyes, despite how tempting it was. England would go berserk if he found out America knew he had a concussion and went to sleep anyway. Then again, England will probably go ballistic anyway when he finds out America was in the South Tower. America chuckled weakly at the thought of the lecture he was undoubtedly receiving from his former mentor. If he saw England again. At the moment he wasn't too sure if he'd be escaping.

He didn't have the strength at the moment to remove the pieces of the building from his legs and even if he did, he'd have to wait for his legs and ribs to heal before he could actually move. The fire fighters were rightfully fighting the fires that were still raging. Even if the found him, he would insist they go help someone else or pretend to be dead so they moved on to help someone else, if anyone was still alive. The area around him reeked of death. It wouldn't be surprising to him if the other people in the building were dead.

Suddenly there was the blinding light of a flashlight and the fuzzy outline of a person. "We got a live one over here!"

tNo, no, no. They had to help his citizens, not him. He opened his mouth to protest as the man can and knelt next to him, but nothing came out as he was having a hard time breathing. The man moved his hand and pressed a piece of gauze to his forehead. He carefully stroked his hair back in a comforting way. "It's going to be alright, Kid." He turned his head away. "Get the lead out of your ass, Bill! He needs oxygen and I need help moving the piece of scaffolding pinning him!"

"I'm coming!" a man, America assumed he was Bill, said. Texas was carefully removed from the nation's face. America was surprised they were still there. "Holy shit, Frank. I think I believe in God now."

Frank placed an oxygen mask on America's face. "That's random."

"I talked to this kid's sister forty minutes ago."

Rosa? She was here already? How the Hell did she get to New York City from Mexico City so fast? America figured she was breaking into his house in D.C. when she heard the news. That meant Canada was in New York too. Mr. President probably told them America was in the World Trade Center. How many other countries knew? Mexico probably called Spain and Brazil and Canada probably called France. Then France probably called England. Several others had probably seen it on the news. After all, the second plane probably hit on live TV as CBS and Today and CNN would've been reporting on the first plane.

"You're Alfred?" Bill asked him. The American nodded weakly. "Do you speak English?" He nodded again. Mexico probably started speaking in Spanish out of panic. "Don't worry Alfred, you'll see your family soon. Your sister's looking for you."

America wanted to ask them how many people wouldn't be see their families again while they were wasting precious time on him, but he didn't. One, he could barely breathe let alone talk. And two, they didn't know he was a nation. They thought he was just a regular person. They were just doing their job. He couldn't snap at them. This wasn't their fault and they meant well. He couldn't let his anger and grief cause him to turn nasty and snap at innocent people.

The two men lifted the scaffolding off the nation. "Shit." he heard one of them swear. Frank walked over to the first aid supplies Bill brought. "This is going hurt like a bitch, Kid."

A pain shot through the American's leg causing him to wince. He let out a whimper of pain. He probably had a compound fracture in his leg. One of the men carefully wrapped his leg, he couldn't tell which one. His body was overloaded with pain and his brain was numbing the worst of it to prevent his body from shutting down. "Shit Frank. I think he's going into shock. Come on Alfred, you have to stay with us. Stay awake."

Frank told Bill something but he couldn't make out what it was. His hearing was starting to go fuzzy and his eyelids were dropping. Someone kept telling him to stay awake. The two turned him onto his back. He let out a gasp of pain. The two lifted him onto an gurney and straped him down. They wheeled him out of wreckage, towards bright, flashing blue and red lights of an ambulance.

* * *

_1:30 p.m. (Just Assume That If I Don't Give a Date or Time Zone, That It's Eastern Standard Time)_

Brazil and Argentina stood outside the airport where America's boss arranged for all nations' flights to land. The two South American nations were waiting for Spain, Portugal, and Andorra. Argentina sighed as she pulled her dirty blonde hair into a ponytail. She turned to her neighbor.

"Have you reached Paraguay yet? He'll be furious if he doesn't find ouyt from someone personally."

"Nenhuma. He's probably in a dead zone or his phone lines were knocked out again. Or he's coming here with Uruguay." Brazil replied. "Do we really have to wait for them?"

"Sí. I told Papa España we'd wait for them." she said. "Andorra's coming with them. They left around 9:30. I think Spain's king arranged their flight."

"Sim. Here it comes." the Portugese speaking nation said as he pointed to a landing plane. "Deus, this makes me nervous. Is that bad?"

"No, it's not. Come on." she ordered.

The two approached the plane as Spain, Portugal, Romano, and a teenager with blonde hair and green eyes stepped off. It didn't surprise them Romano was with the group. Argentina allowed Spain to hug her and Brazil shook Portugal's hand stiffly. The Brazilian had yet to forgive his former mentor whereas most of Spain's colonies decided the past was the past and if they didn't forgive him, their hatred would consume them and they'd be no better. Argentina hugged Romano and reguarded Andorra politely. She considered the smaller nation too prissy for her liking.

"Argentina." Andorra said with a nod. "Or should I say Fernanda?"

"That would probably be best while we're in the city, Angelia." she replied. "And Brazil is Roberto." She turned to Portugal. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Marcos."

"Sim Fernanda." he said in response. "Shall we get going?"

"Sí, I'll go hail a taxi." Spain said.

The group picked up their luggage. "Oi Tomato Bastard! You forgot your damn bags. I'm not fucking taking them for you."

"I almost forgot. Thanks Roma~" Spain said as he grabbed his luggage.

"Are we going to the hotel first?" Brazil asked.

"Sì Football Bastard. What do you think?" Romano told him. "We can't exactly lug the damn things through the Hamburger Bastard's fucking city."

* * *

_Meanwhile,_

"I can't believe they didn't believe those badges were real." Mexico said bitterly as she stapled a missing person's sign to a post.

"I can, eh. I don't exactly look Hispanic, Rosa." Canada said. "I don't know where the Hell Gilbert is. Do you?"

"No, no lo sé." she answered. "I'm not concerned about that damn asshole. I'm more worried about the fucking Gringo."

"I don't understand why you get on Romano about his mouth, eh. Yours is just as bad." Canada said, shaking his head. "I'm worried Rosa. Al could be seriously wounded."

"Lo sé. I am too. Come on. Let's look for tu novio."

The Canadian's face flushed. "Gil is not my boyfriend."

"No? Next will you say Alfie hates hamburgers and Feli hates pasta?"

"Fuck you, eh."

"Love you too."

* * *

_1:45 p.m._

"Gilbert, mi amigo!" Spain called to Prussia.

The Prussian turned towards the Spaniard and his group. He approached them. He gave Andorra and Argentina a hug. "Hallo. I'm going to send you guys a picture zat Mexico's having awesome me show around."

"How did you get here?" Portugal asked.

"Hm? Oh, I vas heading to Birdie's but I decided to swing by Alfred's house. Rosa vas zere vhen ve heard. She stole his car und ve drove to Brooklyn. Vhich, she is a vorse driver zen Ita."

"I shudder to know of a worse driver then my younger brother." Portugal said with a grimace. "Eh Spain? Romano?"

The group started towards the site. They'd stop and ask bystanders and emergency workers if they'd seen the American. Each time, the response they'd get was no. Or that they couldn't talk. Each time Argentina would put a hand over Romano's mouth to keep him from swearing at them. She'd remind him that it wasn't their fault and they were busy trying to help get people out of the wreckage of the building.

"¿Papa? ¿Eres tú?" a voice asked. Mexico ran up to Spain and wrapped her arms around him before bursting in to tears. "¡No puedo buscar mi hermanito! Papa, estoy preocupado."

"I know Rosa." Spain said before stroking her hair. "That's why we're here."

"Fletch and I are here too, Mate." Australia's voice said from behind them. They turned around and saw New Zealand, Australia, and Japan. "Oh, Kiku came too. Apparently Yao, Leon, and Ludwig are coming along with Francis and Arthur."

"That means my idiot little brother is coming if the Potato Bastard is." Romano scoffed.

"I don't know if Italia-kun is coming or not." Japan said. "He and Doitsu-san got into a fight."

"Oh, I know he's coming." Romano stated matter-of-factly. "L'idiota won't just stand by if one of his friends is hurt."

"I'm here too, da." Russia said, appearing seemingly from nowhere. "So Estonia wasn't lying then."

"Where'd you come from, eh?" Canada asked.

"I have my secrets for getting Amerika to become one." the Russian replied. "Who are you?"

A look of rage appeared on the Canadian's face. "I don't have time for this shit. My brother's missing, eh."

"Estonia wasn't lying about that either? Amerika really is missing?"

"Sim Russia." Brazil said.

"Ah, Brazil. You're here too, Comrade?"

"Sim. Argentina and I came together."

"Come on, eh." Canada said passing out missing person's posters. "Mexico and I made posters. Start hanging them around."

* * *

_2:00 p.m._

England and France stepped off the plane. They could see the smoke rising from where they were. England leaned against the side of the building and closed his eyes. This wasn't happening. This was a nightmare and he'd wake up any second. France put a hand on the Brit's shoulder. He swatted it away.

"Angleterre, we don't 'ave to go." France said.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about, Frog? Of course we have to go. The git needs us. Don't you remember how he was after that bloody bombing out west a few years ago? And his brother, what's his name?"

"Canada?"

"Yes, him. Canada needs us too. He's probably worried about Alfred. We-we need to find America. God, the bloody git. Why the bloody hell was he in the towers in the first place?"

"Canada said Amérique's boss sent 'im to a meeting while 'is boss was in Florida. So Amérique 'ad a legitimate reason to be there."

"Who the Hell are you trying to fool? The wanker would've gone anyway because of his bloody hero complex."

"Oui Angleterre, you're right." France agreed. "But 'e's still missing."

England sighed and grabbed his bag. France picked up his and the two walked towards the city.

* * *

**Frank and Bill are not based off of real people and I just gave them the first male names that came to mind (Frank probably got his name from the fact I have at least three Franks in my family and Bill probably got his name because I know a guy named Bill.) Anyway, I'm not going to describe them so you can just image them however you want them to look. African-American, Hispanic, I really don't care. It's your imagination. Since this is the first time I've written Brazil and Argentina into a fanfiction, Brazil is a male with brown hair and green eyes and Argentina is a female with dirty blonde, almost brown hair and green eyes.**

** I think from now on the time zone is Eastern Standard Time since I don't want to write reactions from every single country as that would require me to create a ton of OCs that most likely won't get used again. I think Mexico, Argentina, Brazil, Andorra, and Slovenia are enough for OCs for this fic. Albania may or may not appear since I already have that country (not revealing Albania's gender yet in case I don't use them in this story) created for use in a different story. It's not set in stone or anything like that.**

**Anyway, any reference to real people (save Bush and the King of Spain, who's name I forget) is completely unintentional. The reason I excluded the former President of the United States and the King of Spain is because I outright referenced them in this chapter. But any real victims or rescue workers or anyone else is unintentional. As I stated before, Bill and Frank are completely fictional. I also apologize for language errors and historical inaccuracies.**

**"¿Por qué? ¿Por qué tienes que ser estúpido y hacer que nos preocupemos de ti? Tú gringo maltido." Spanish for "Why? Why do you have to be stupid and an make us worry about you? You damn Gringo."**

**"Merci" is French for "Thank you."**

**"Sí, lo es un idea muy bueno, pero no tienes una foto de Alfred." Spanish for "Yes, it is a good idea, but you don't have a picture of Alfred."**

**"Nenhuma" is Portugese for "No."**

**"Sim" is Portugese for "Yes."**

**"¿Papa? ¿Eres tú? ¡No puedo buscar mi hermanito! Papa, estoy preocupado." Spanish for "Papa? Is it you? I can't find my baby brother! Papa, I'm worried."**

**I don't own Hetalia, only the OCs mentioned above.**


	5. Chapter 5

_2:30 p.m._

"Oh God." England sobbed when he saw the remains of the towers. "Oh God."

He slowly sank to his knees. There was no way they were finding America in that. There were probably more people still trapped than countries in the world. One look was all it took for England to convince himself that they would never find him. England, though he would never actually say it to anyone, still cared about America a great deal. The thought that they would never find the American was devestating to the Brit.

"Papa!" a voice cried before France was knocked to the ground by a sobbing Canada. The Canadian was speaking in rapid French but France couldn't understand him because of the fact he was using Canadian French, which contained different slang and a different accent.

"Canada, mon cher, settle down s'il vous plaît." France pleaded with his former little brother. "Mon frére, it will be alright."

"B-But Al... We've been looking and we can't find him." Canada said in a shaky voice.

"¡Quiero encontrar mi hermanito!" Mexico wailed before clinging to Spain. "I'll never break into his house, call him a Gringo, or bring up the Alamo again if we find him!"

"And I'll never- I'll never complain about how I get beat up for the things he does again!" Canada bartered. "I just want him back, eh."

"C-Canada," England said softly, "it's alright lad. I-I'm sure the wanker's around here somewhere. Let's not start bartering yet."

"Why not? They've been through denial and anger. Barting is the next stage of grief, da." Russia pointed out.

"That's for death, my friend." Brazil said. "America's not dead." He checked his watch. "China and Hong Kong should be here soon."

* * *

_Meanwhile,_

Italy, Slovenia, Switzerland, and Liechenstein landed at the same time as Austria, Hungary, and Germany. Slovenia's eyes lit up when he saw his former guardians. "Matti! Oče!"

He ran to them and wrapped his arms around them. Hungary dropped her suitcase and returned it. Slovenia lived with them from the Holy Roman Empire until 1918, so he considered them his adopted parents as they practically raised him. Austria surprisingly hugged the Slovene. The three of them were just happy that they were all okay. Hungary held out an arm and gestured for Italy to join, which he gladly did. Germany and Switzerland exchanged an awkward look as Liechenstein joined the group hug. Neither of them were the hugging type.

Hungary broke the hug. "Vell, ve have a nation to help. Vhen ve find him, Italy and Germany, you'll stay with him as you are his friends. The rest of us here vill help vherever ve're needed. Sound like a plan."

There was a chorus of "ja"s, with a "sì" added in. "What about us, aru?"

They all turned to the direction of the voice. China and Hong Kong were standing there. Hungary smiled at them. "China, you'll be vith America as you are also his friend. Hong Kong, you can help us."

"I guess that's fine." the teenager replied.

"Why do we have to stay with America, aru?" China asked curiously. Surely the superpower could handle himself when they found him. And knowing the American, he was going to insist he was fine and want to go help.

Hungary's face darkened, causing the Germanic, Italian, and Slavic nations to wisely back up. "You're joking, right? America is most likely seriously hurt. And think of the mental and emotional toll this vill take on him. I lived vith Austria, Italy, Slovenia, Holy Roman Empire, Slovakia, the Czech Republic, Poland, Croatia, and Romania. Bosnia also lived with us for a few years. We are all human personifications of our nations and America is a teenager. I know how tragedy effects teenagers from vhen Austria and I vere married. Every nation that vas under our control vent through it. America vill be devastated. I'm sure in your long life, you have seen how tragedy effects our kind, especially vhen your younger siblings and you went through it. But it vill be better for America if his friends are vith him. I'm not talking about current allies, I mean nations that he has know personally for years and trusts them as people."

"Zat's a compelling argument." Germany agreed.

"I guess I can see the logic in that, aru." China said. "As long as you promise to keep an eye on Hong Kong for me."

"Of course China." Hungary assured him. "Let's go."

* * *

_3:00 p.m._

China, Hong Kong, Austria, Hungary, Slovenia, Germany, and Italy all met up with the others. Italy immediately hugged Japan and started to cry. For once, the Japanese man did not push the Italian away from him. He understood how upset Italy was as he was equally as upset. Hungary wacked Prussia with her frying pan before hugging him. "Don't you ever make us vorry like that again."

"Ve- I mean Elizaveta thought you vere on one of ze planes. She vouldn't shut up about it." Austria added.

Hungary raised an eyebrow. "Vhat are you talking about, Rodreich? That vas you."

Austria's face went beet red. "Nein! I-I vasn't vorried... Okay, maybe a little but Elizaveta vas ze one freaking out."

"Uh-huh. Sure she was, Oče." Slovenia said. "Admit it, you care about Prusija too." He turned to the Prussian. "I was worried too. Ask Italija."

"You guys vere vorried about me?" Prussia asked.

There was a clang of Hungary's frying pan coming in contact with Prussia's head. "Of course ve vere! Idiot! Ve thought you vere on one of the planes because you veren't answering your phone."

"Ja Bruder... I thought-I thought you vere hurt..." Germany admitted. "I called Hungary again after I realized you veren't answering your phone."

Prussia hugged his brother. "Kesesese West, I didn't think you vould get zat vorked up. Ja, I guess awesome me should have answered my phone, but I vas busy helping to look for America."

"Speaking of," Hungary said, "after we find him, I believe his close friends and family should stay with him while the rest of us help vhere ve're needed."

"Define 'close friends and family.'" Argentina ordered.

"Canada, Mexico, England, France, Japan, Russia, China, Italy, and Germany." she replied. "The rest of us can help vith the rescue effort and vhatever else needs done. That vay America has his friends and family to help him heal mentally and the stress removed by the rest of us handling vhatever needs done."

"That makes sense." Brazil said. "More will be coming, so there will be more to help with recovery and rescue."

"Excuse me." a voice said. They turned around and saw a rescue worker. He turned to Mexico. "You are Alfred's sister?"

"Sí. Soy la hermana de Alfred." she replied. "¿Por qué?"

"My partner and I found him in the wreckage of the South Tower. He's still alive." the man replied.

Reactions were varied. Canada and Mexico cried in relief and hugged France and Spain respectively. England's legs gave out beneath him and he had to grab France's shoulder for support. Italy clung tightly to Japan and bawled his eyes out. Germany and China sighed in relief. And Russia showed no outward reaction, but was relived because it meant he could still fight with his rival.

"Where is he?" Canada demanded.

"My partner sent me the address to give to his family." the man said as he handed the Canadian a napkin with an address scratched onto it.

"¡Gracias!" Mexico cried before kissing the rescue worker on both cheeks. "¡Muchas gracias!"

"Um... De nada." he replied before rushing off.

"Come on. I know where this one is. It's in driving distance." Canada said. "Between Rosa and I, we have enough room for everyone that's going. I'll let Rosa borrow my GPS."

"¿Dondé está?" Mexico asked. "Is it nearby?"

"It's in Pennsylvania. My guess is nearby hospitals are overfilling and they're sending them out of state. It might be a good sign because it indicates his injuries aren't life threatening to a human as it's three hours away." Canada explained.

"How many kilometers?" Germany asked.

"America doesn't use the bloody metric system." England said irritably. "Converting miles to kilometers would require us to know the formula and we don't have time to do bloody math right now."

"Just go, mates." Australia ordered. "We'll handle this."

* * *

_6:00 p.m._

The nine nations entered the Penn State Milton Hershey Medical Center in Hershey, Pennsylvania. Canada and Mexico had gone as fast as they could without breaking the speed limit enough to draw police attention, as being pulled over would waste time. But during that time, the other nations were terrified for their lives. They had driven on I-78 and the five Europeans and two Asians had decided never to drive on an American Interstate again. The two and a half hour car ride had been made up of the news blaring over the radio, construction, the two North Americans swearing colorfully at drivers who cut them off, more construction, and several near crashes. Canada informed them that it normally would've taken them three hours.

Canada approached the reception desk. "Excuse me, eh. We're looking for my brother, Alfred."

The receptionist huffed in annoyance and glared at him. "Look buddy, we're very busy here. We've been getting patients from D.C. and Manhattan, along with our normal patients. In fact we're swamped. If you think I have time to look up your brother's name, then you're mistaken. You'll have to have a seat and wait until things calm down."

England came up, his eyes swimming with the wrath of the empire he once was. "Excuse me, Miss. We understand that you are extremely busy, but that gives you no excuse to be rude to us. Our relative was pulled out of the towers and we were told he was sent here. We are extremely worried and we do not need your bloody attitude telling us that you're too busy to tell us if he's alright or not."

She sighed. "Name?"

"Alfred F. Jones." the Brit replied.

"We have an Alfred brought in earlier via life flight. Blond hair, blue eyes, nineteen. Fit the description?"

"Yes. Yes that's Al." Canada confirmed eagerly before turning to the other nations. "He's here!" He turned back to the receptionist. "Where is he?"

"ICU."

Canada's eagerness and excitement faded. ICU? Life flight? Exactly how bad was his brother hurt? A million questions began running through his mind along with dozens upon dozens of scenarios. He turned to England and noticed the other nation had gone visibly pale. He glanced at the receptionist. "How bad is he hurt, eh?"

"I'm not authorized to tell you, sir. The doctor will have to inform you of his condition." she replied before going back to her work.

England grabbed Canada's wrist and pulled him over to the other nations. Italy cocked his head in curiosity. "Is America okay?"

England cleared his throat after a moment of silence. "S-She wouldn't tell us. S-Said she was unauthorized. But America is- America is in the ICU."

"Ve~ What's that?" Italy questioned.

"It stands for 'Intensive Care Unit,' da?" Russia asked. "That means Amerika's injuries are worse than we thought."

"Not necessarily." France replied. "'E was brought in from an disaster. Perhaps it's just protocol. We 'ave to 'ave 'ope that Amérique is alright."

"Fuck your damn hope." England spat. "If Alfred's in the ICU, then he's seriously hurt."

"Now's not ze time for a fight." Germany growled. "Ve are unware of America's condition. For all ve know, it is protocol here."

"Hai. Germany-san is correct. Ret's just go to the ICU and see what we can find out."

* * *

_A Little While Later_

The ICU was busy. Nurses and doctors were running around, wheeling patients on hospital beds. Most of them were victims of the attacks. Several were covered in bandages and had tubes going in and out of their bodies. STNAs trailed the hospital beds pushing IV lines and oxygen machines. Germany approached the nurses' station.

"Excuse me, ve are looking for our friend, Alfred. He vas brought in from ze towers."

The nurse gave him a look of pity. "I'm sorry, Honey. Yinz'll have to sit in the waiting area until things settle."

The nations sighed and sat down in the uncomfortable chairs. Several wished they had brought something to do because they had a feeling they would be waiting for a long time.

* * *

_10:00 p.m._

Four hours. That's how long the nine nations waited. They had read and reread the same out dated magazines full of drama and useless things like how to look 'sexy.' As a result, France complained about the lack of nudity and that Americans were too conservative because of that. Italy had entertained himself with the children's toys in the corner to keep himself occupied because he didn't want Germany yelling at him for complaining. China kept texting Hong Kong to make sure he was alright until his brother stopped responding. England was pacing. Germany was writing notes for the next meeting. Japan was sleeping. Russia was doing God knows what on his phone. And Canada and Mexico were repeatedly checking to see if the ICU had settled down.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, a doctor approached them: "I am told you are Alfred's friends?"

"More or less." England replied as China awoke Japan.

"I'm Dr. Smith. Alfred's very lucky. He's in critical condition, but he's stable. He suffered a severe concussion, several broken ribs, one of his lungs collapsed twice, two compound fractures in his left leg, a broken wrist, and several cuts and bruises. He's also suffering from smoke inhalation and he has a first-degree burn on his left leg. As I said, he's very lucky." the doctor informed them. "What we're mainly concerned with is the lung and the concussion. The good news is, we expect him to make a full recovery and he's responsive, which lessens the worry of him slipping into a coma. It was good that he was awake when he was found. We will be moving him in the morning and that will be when you can see him. Any questions?"

"Why can't we see him now?" Mexico demanded.

"We've sedated him and he won't be awake until tomorrow afternoon. Also, visiting hours are over and we only allow family to visit in the ICU." Dr. Smith explained. He handed England some paperwork. "If you could please fill this out, it would be greatly appreciated and I will have his personal items released to you. Just hand it over to the nurses' station."

"Thank you, Doctor." Canada said.

The doctor nodded and left them. England quickly filled out the paperwork that was handed to him, occasionally asking Canada for some information he didn't know. He took it to the nurses' station when he was finished and was given a plastic bag full of America's personal items. The nation's went through them together. A charred wallet, a destroyed cell phone, a set of dog tags which Canada took, the tattered clothes America was wearing, his shoes, and house keys. Canada and Mexico both frowned.

"Throw everything but the wallet, shoes, keys, and dog tags away." Mexico instructed. "I can't help but feel something is missing."

"I know, eh." Canada agreed. "Don't throw the phone away; that can be recycled."

"What do you mean something is missing, aru?" China asked.

"Da, they're right. Amerika normally carries a hand gun on him." Russia informed them.

"Hai. I remember America-san using it once." Japan said. "He said he never went anywhere without it."

"They probably confiscated it." England told them. "God knows where we have to go to get that bloody thing back."

"Security probably has it." Germany said in response. "Or it might not even be here. He may have had to hand it over to security vhen he had to enter ze building he vas in."

"I'll check his house later to see if he left it there, but it won't hurt to check here." Mexico said. "We might as well get some sleep."

* * *

**I didn't quite make three thousand words with this chapter. Oh well. The receptionist, the nurse, and Dr. Smith are purely fictional and not based off of real people. Again, you can imagine them however you want. And the Hershey Hospital was the only one I could think of that wasn't too far away from New York City. I do not know if victims of the 9/11 Attack were actually sent here or not. It's about halfway between New York City and D.C. and about four hours away from Shanksville, PA where the fourth plane went down (I know because I've been to both Hershey and Somerset County PA). And I wrote motherly Hungary because it's my head canon that Hungary was very motherly towards most of the nations that lived with her and Austria.**

**This work is purely fictional and any references to real people are unintentional unless I say otherwise (ex: politicians). I do not own Hetalia. And I own Slovenia, Argentina, and Brazil.**

**¡Quiero encontrar mi hermanito! is Spanish for "I want to find my baby brother!"**

**Matti and Oče are Slovenian for "Mother" and "Father" respectively.**

**Sí. Soy la hermana de Alfred. is Spanish for "Yes. I am Alfred's sister."**

**"¿Dondé está? is Spanish for "Where is it at?"**

**I apologize for any language or historical errors.**


End file.
